


Roses

by Lamia of the Dark (VisceraNight)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Implied/Referenced Sex, Mild Sexual Content, POV First Person, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 07:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2763992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VisceraNight/pseuds/Lamia%20of%20the%20Dark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you're Lord Voldermort, the command "say my name" might be more complicated than your lover thinks it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roses

~ Roses ~

I am not the type of man to take by force that which is already offered freely to me. Perhaps her husband would prefer to believe that I am, but I am sure he must realize that she comes to me of her own free will.

I press my lips to her throat and whisper her name between kisses.

She responds, "Master..."

Suddenly it feels like a badly-constructed fantasy. This is one of the few situations in which I would actually prefer not to be addressed as "Master" or "my lord". I have told her before that in the bedroom she is to address me as "darling" but that instruction appears to have slipped her mind in the heat of the moment.

On impulse I say, "Call me by my name."

"Lord Voldemort," she whispers reverently.

"No, call me by  _my name_ ," I hiss, perhaps more venomously than I intended.

Her body goes rigid with fear. She doesn't like this game anymore. "V-voldemort," she chokes out, her voice barely audible. She knows her answer is wrong and she is terrified of what I will do to her.

I suppose there is nothing to be done about it. We will have to conclude our tryst for the night, without having done much of anything. As I stated before, I am not the type to take something by force when it is freely offered to me. And if I were to take her now, it would cause her to fear these interactions in the future.

I place one last teasing kiss on her neck and release her.

"Once you've figured out the correct answer, you may return and we will continue," I tell her.

She murmurs a hasty "thank you" (probably meaning to thank me for not punishing her), and exits the room. Once she is gone, I sigh heavily and sit down on the bed.

It seems ridiculous, this sudden desire to have her call me "Tom". However, it is obviously important to me, somewhere in the back of my mind. I've always hated the filthy common Muggle name that I inherited from my father. But I can't help thinking that if I were to hear it in her voice, soft and low, as a whispered sigh against my skin, as an impassioned cry, I would somehow not mind so much being called by such a name.

Perhaps it is true what they say about roses...

~end~


End file.
